


Loving You (Losing You)

by whenshewrites



Series: A Collection of Curses and Spells [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Curses, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Idiots in Love, M/M, Memory Loss, Mind Manipulation, Monster of the Week, Pixies, Protective Derek, Scott McCall is a puppy, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things, Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale's Anchor, The Pack Being Idiots, attempts at fluff, attempts at humor, oblivious idiots, slight angst, sorta (again), sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23799943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: Derek is cursed to lose what he loves, the pack doesn't know how to react, and Stiles is concerned. Rightfully so, since nothing seems to happen.And then everything goes wrong.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Series: A Collection of Curses and Spells [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990432
Comments: 83
Kudos: 832





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles often found himself debating between punching Derek in the face and trying to make his eyebrows appear as happy as possible. It was something that’d bothered him for years.

Scott didn’t understand it. And to be honest, Stiles didn’t either. But Derek and his emotions were something Stiles had latched onto Junior year and hadn’t let go of since. He didn’t plan to either. Not until he figured out how to get under the werewolf’s skin and stay there.

Lydia claimed it was a crush. Stiles called it a period of observation. One he totally had control over. He had for years. Except he totally didn’t.

Everything changed on a Thursday. 

This week, they were after a pixie that’d been spreading curses all throughout town. Stiles thought it was beyond ridiculous. Of all things, the monster of the week was a pixie. A tiny little pixie. Stiles felt like that summarized his existence pretty well.

He’d always imagined pixies were some sort of Tinkerbell look-alike, with dainty fingers and toes. He hadn’t expected the thing to be mean and ugly, looking like a stick with sharp teeth. Stiles didn’t think any of them were prepared. Which was how the pack ended up running through the preserve in the middle of the night trying to avoid curses, much to the pixie’s amusement.

Stiles decided if this was how he died, he was going to be pissed. He’d survived far too much to be taken out by a deformed Tinkerbell. It wouldn’t be fair.

It was this thought that led Stiles to face the pixie head-on, determined to take it out for good. A lot of things could survive his baseball bat, but he didn’t think it stood a chance.

Stiles had been wrong before.

Though it wasn’t until the pixie turned into a man, with sharp claws and white fangs, that Stiles realized exactly how wrong he was. He cursed and stumbled back, tripping over his feet and falling hard to the ground. The pixie sneered down at him.

“Brave little human,” he said, eyes glinting. “Foolish, but brave. What is your stick supposed to do to me?”

“If you’d turned small again, we could test it out and see,” Stiles said, scrambling back through the leaves. His back rammed against a tree and he grunted, swallowing hard as the pixie laughed. Those fangs were like a thousand tiny knives. Stiles didn’t want to know what they felt like meeting skin.

“I don’t know whether to kill you,” the pixie said. “Or curse you for all eternity.”

“Doing neither would be nice. Let’s go with neither.”

“A talkative one,” the pixie sneered. “What would you do without your lungs, little human?”

“Probably die. So that’s not exactly on my bucket list.”

The pixie’s eyes gleamed and he raised a clawed hand. Stiles flinched back, cursing himself for ever trying to be a hero, right as a roar struck the air. The pixie’s claws cut through thin air as Stiles was tackled sideways, shoved out of danger. Derek spun around to face the creature head-on, snarling a challenge. The pixie straightened and his eyes gleamed.

“An Alpha!” He said in excitement. “And one so full of pain, too. Oh, but not completely, are you?”

Derek leaped forward without preamble, his claws slashing straight through the pixie’s chest. The man shrieked in pain and stumbled back, and Derek drove him to the ground. Stiles looked away as bloodied claws lifted into the moonlight again, sweeping down one last time.

“I curse you,” the pixie whispered weakly. “May you lose all that you cherish.”

Stiles sat straight up. Derek growled and dug his claws in deeper, and the pixie’s body went limp. Stiles stared in shock. He expected to see some flash of light or sudden burst of energy to fulfill Derek’s curse, but nothing happened. The Alpha sat back, breathing heavily, and wiped his claws off on the leaves.

“Derek?” Stiles shoved himself up and scrambled over. “Derek, dude, Derek! Oh my god, are you okay?”

“Stiles?” Derek looked at him and promptly drew back, snarling slightly. “Stiles, you idiot. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Thinking?” Stiles blinked in surprise. “Uh, maybe that the pixie was getting on my nerves and the last thing I expected for him to do was turn into a freaking clawed  _ man.” _

“You’re an idiot,” Derek said again. “Is it actually possible for you to think for once before throwing yourself into danger? Do you realize that’s a risk to the rest of the pack? One day, you’re going to get someone killed, if not yourself.”

“Woah,” Stiles said, drawing back. “Dude, I get that you’re irritated and all, but that’s really not necessary.”

“What’s not necessary,” Derek said, glaring at him. “Is you and your baseball bat trying to keep up with wolves. Next time you’re staying at the loft.”

Stiles stared in shocked silence as Derek pushed himself up, grimacing at his bloodstained hands again. The Alpha gave him another irritated look before stalking off into the woods, leaving Stiles alone with a body. He nearly had a heart attack as Scott came racing out of the darkness from the other side.

“Stiles! Stiles, are you—” Scott’s gaze landed on the pixie’s body and his eyes rounded. “Oh, wow. Derek?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “But I think the pixie cursed him.”

Scott straightened. “Is he dying? Is he dead?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “No, he’s not dying. Or dead. The pixie said something about him losing what he cherished… though nothing really happened.”

“Maybe it didn’t go through,” Scott said. “Or maybe Derek doesn't have anything to lose. Seriously, what does he cherish besides his Camaro?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, “I guess. If he’s missing the Camaro, though, you’re fighting him while I run.”

“Oh my god,” Scott said, paling. “He’d kill us all.”

Stiles threw back his head and laughed, starting in the direction where Derek had vanished. The others could clean up the body, he decided, since they’d gone who-knew-where during the chaos. Jackson always wormed out of clean-up duty anyway. The asshole.

Turns out, Derek still had his Camaro. Which would’ve been a relief, because he was Stiles’s ride. Except the Alpha was already gone.

“Um,” Stiles said, staring at the empty space where the Camaro had been. “Seriously?”

“Maybe he forgot,” Scott said, eyeing the empty lot too, before going over to his motorcycle. “Do you want me to give you a ride?”

“Dude,” Stiles said, glancing at Scott’s death contraption. “I already escaped dying once today. I’ll call my dad and have him come pick me up, it’s no big deal.”

“Do you want me to hang out?”

“Naw, dude,” Stiles waved him off. “It’ll be ten minutes, tops.”

Scott hesitated, but Stiles offered his best grin and his friend eventually nodded, pulling on his helmet. Stiles watched him leave before fishing out his phone, dialing his dad’s number. The Sheriff wasn’t excited to lose out on his beauty sleep, unsurprisingly, but he agreed to head over. Stiles ended the call and punched in Derek’s number, bringing the phone back to his ear.

Derek always answered within the first three rings, if not sooner. But Stiles didn’t get an answer this time and frowned, dialing again. This time, Derek picked up right away.

“Stiles, what.”

“Dude, what the actual hell? I’m still here!”

“So?”

Stiles gaped, staring at the empty darkness. Was Derek being serious? Was he really that pissed Stile had tried taking on the pixie by himself? It wouldn’t be the first time Stiles had thrown himself in the face of danger. Derek usually got over it after a sarcastic joke or two. “Uh, what do you mean, so? You were my ride, asshole!”

“Ask Scott.”

“Ask Scott?  _ Ask Scott?  _ Derek, you hate his motorcycle! You once locked me in the trunk of your Camaro so I wouldn’t let him take me on a joyride!”

“Stiles,” Derek said, long and dragged out as if Stiles was being the obnoxious one. “I’m driving. Is someone coming to get you?”

“Yeah, my dad, but—”

“Good. Then I’m not needed.” And then the asshole hung up. 

Stiles stared at his black phone screen. For a moment, that was all he could do, because he couldn’t believe Derek had just hung up on him. The Alpha was irritable sometimes, sure, but he didn’t do anything like hanging up on Stiles anymore. He hadn’t in years, not since Stiles was the annoying sixteen-year-old trying to rile him up.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, glaring at his phone. “You absolute jerkwad.”

His dad wasn’t happy to see him on the side of the road alone.

“Where’s Scott?” His dad demanded the moment Stiles climbed into the cruiser. “Where’s Derek or one of his pups? Someone always stays with you, Stiles. In fact, I thought Derek was supposed to be the one driving you home tonight.”

“I told Scott I’d be fine,” Stiles said sullenly. “And I think Derek forgot about me.”

“Derek did what?” The Sheriff’s grip tightened around the steering wheel and his voice went deadly calm. “What do you mean, he forgot about you? He left you alone in the middle of nowhere? Did you trying calling him?”

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugged. “I think he’s pissed at me.”

“So he left you  _ alone?” _

“I might’ve tried facing the pixie alone,” Stiles said miserably. “He always gets mad when I do stuff like that. Oh my god, dad, I think I broke Derek Hale. Did I break Derek Hale?”

“He left you,” his dad raged again. Stiles suddenly realized he probably should’ve cut Derek a little slack, because his dad looked like he was about to drive to Derek’s loft and give him a proper beating. Quickly, Stiles backtracked.

“It was an accident, dad! Or at least, I think it was an accident. Of some kind.”

“Derek Hale is lucky I left my wolfsbane bullets at home,” the Sheriff said darkly. “Because we’d be paying him a little late-night visit if I hadn’t.”

Stiles swallowed, gazing out the window. Silence fell over the car and he couldn’t help glancing down at his phone as they drove, thumbing over Derk’s contact name. He felt bad. What if he’d really broken Derek? The Alpha always got pouty when Stiles didn’t listen or put himself in unnecessary danger, so tonight shouldn’t have anything new. But he’d never reacted this strongly before.

Stiles wondered if something else was going on. Up to this point, Derek could’ve had a worse day than usual for all he knew. Maybe he’d overslept. Or the Beacon Hills coffee shop was out of double chocolate chip muffins— Stiles knew those were Derek’s favorite, even though he pretended not to have a sweet tooth. Or maybe something else had happened.

The rest of the ride was silent. Stiles was all too relieved get be back home, exhaustion crashing over him in a sudden wave. Running through the forest at one in the morning had its drawbacks. As if running through the forest wasn’t a drawback of its own.

Derek would’ve dropped him off in the driveway, driven to park a few blocks away, and snuck back in through the window. He did that a lot; he liked to check in on the pack after a fight and Stiles was usually the closest one. But Derek didn't show up this night. Stiles tried not to feel too bothered by that, turning his phone on and off, glancing at Derek’s contact one too many times.

He eventually went back to his home screen. The background picture was one of the pack; arms thrown across each other’s shoulders in front of the preserve. It’d take an hour to get one where nobody was messing around, arguing, or convinced they didn’t look like a supermodel. But it’d been worth it.

Stiles smiled at the photo, where he had one arm thrown over Derek’s shoulders and one over Scott’s. Derek was on the very edge of the picture and he was smiling. Not fully, but Stiles considered it special anyway.

Derek looked content in the photo. Something almost near happy.

Stiles sighed, shutting his phone off again. Lydia claimed it was a crush, Stiles called it a period of observation. One he totally had under control; and had for years. Except he totally didn’t.

And Stiles didn’t think he ever would.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles comes to a realization, Derek is a surprising jerk, and Deaton is as mysterious as always.

They had a pack meeting that night.

Stiles was cautious when entering the loft. Usually, on Friday nights, he came by early to help Derek set up and pick out the movies for later, but Stiles showed up a few minutes late this time. He didn’t want to risk Derek getting even more peeved at him and he was still a little peeved himself.

Just like Stiles expected, the rest of the pack was already there. Lydia shot him a questioning look as Stiles started over and he shrugged. He didn’t want to explain Derek’s attitude last night.

Speaking of, Derek hadn’t even bothered to look at him. Not the moment Stiles entered or when he plopped down on the couch at Derek’s side. In fact, the Alpha seemed to shift away instead, looking both confused and irritated at Stiles’s closeness. 

Stiles clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. If Derek wanted to play pouty Alpha, he could play pouty Alpha. Stiles didn’t care. He didn’t.

He did a little bit.

The pack went through the pizza boxes far too fast. With a full pack, that shouldn’t be a surprise, but Stiles was always the one to remind Derek to pick up a few more extra than usual. Except this time, Derek hadn’t even bothered texting him what he was ordering.

That pissed Stiles off even more. He could’ve gone for another few slices, dammit.

Once everyone finished eating, they went through the weekly reports. Derek’s betas said they hadn’t noticed anything off around the town’s borders, Scott confirmed that all was quiet on the other fronts, and Allison promised there were no hunters on their way to wreck the peace. 

It came down to Lydia and Stiles for research then, but Lydia had been sick all week, so Stiles was the one who’d been on pixie duty. He was pretty proud of himself too. He was the reason they’d figured out it was a pixie in the first place, after all.

“Which is why I’m clearly amazing,” Stiles said, summarizing his report for the week with a grin. “And clearly a very valuable asset in this pack. I will take no criticism or objections.”

“Valuable,” Jackson scoffed. “Didn’t you almost die last night?”

“Overruled,” Stiles said. “No criticism or objections, asshole, remember? I’m amazing.”

“But you did almost die,” Derek said, not looking at him. “Which is why you’re on loft duty the next time something threatens the town. Or did you forget what I said yesterday?”

“Uh,” Stiles stared at him. “I thought you were being an old grouch or something. Dude, Derek, it’s not I’ve never almost died before.”

“Exactly,” Derek said. “You’re a liability.”

“What?” Stiles was on his feet in a second. “A liability? Seriously? What the hell is that supposed to mean, Sourwolf?”

“It means you're the token human of the pack,” Derek said, looking neither sympathetic or bothered by Stiles’s tone. “And we can’t have you running headfirst into danger like an idiot every time we face a new threat.”

“What about Lydia?” Stiles asked, outraged. “Or Allison?”

“Lydia’s a banshee,” Derek said calmly. “And Allison’s a trained hunter.”

“I have a baseball bat!”

Derek looked at him, unimpressed. Stiles gawked and gazed around the room, but the others all avoided his gaze. All except Lydia, who looked a little confused at Derek’s sudden change of attitude too. Stiles didn’t know where it’d come from. Two days ago, Derek had been in his room watching him research and making idle, amused threats concerning Stiles putting himself in danger. But that’s exactly what they’d been. Idle and amused. Stiles looked at Scott for help.

“Scotty?”

“Derek,” Scott said, the ever the loyal puppy. “You can’t just cut Stiles out of the fight.”

“I’m not,” Derek said. “I’m keeping him out of danger. Or do you want to be the one explaining to his father— _ the Sheriff— _ that Stiles didn’t survive a fight because he took on a threat too big? There won’t always be someone to watch his back.”

“But you’re always there to watch his back,” Allison said, looking confused. “Or he’s there to watch yours.”

“Thank you, Allison!” Stiles said, giving her a grateful look. “Dude, Derek, you’ve been acting weird ever since the pixie cursed you. What the hell did that asshole take?”

Everyone in the pack straightened. Derek’s face darkened.

“The pixie cursed you?” Boyd asked, sounding concerned. Derek shot Stiles a cold look.

“No,” Derek said. “He died before it could go through.”

“How do you know that?” Stiles asked, waving his arms around. “You’ve been… grumpier than usual, Sourwolf! I mean, you left me on the side of the road last night, dude. In the dark!”

“You left Stilinski?” Jackson asked, snorting. “Wish I could’ve seen that.”

Stiles glared at him. Lydia elbowed her boyfriend’s side.

“I just know,” Derek said, giving Stiles a sharp look. It was startlingly familiar— like the ones from three years ago— when they’d first met. “And I’m your Alpha, Stiles. Next week, you’re on loft duty.”

Stiles clenched his jaw. And when it was clear nobody was going to take his side, he snarled and turned on his heel, stalking toward the door. Scott called his name and Stiles could feel the others watching, but the one person he hoped would stop him didn’t. Stiles didn’t even think Derek blinked.

So he left.

Stiles was so mad, he nearly drove off the road three times while heading home. He got close to his house, but then suddenly changed directions, heading for the vet clinic instead. It wasn’t that late yet, so Stiles was sure Deaton would still be around. Or he hoped he would be, at least.

Usually, the pack meetings turned into a movie night or tournament of board games, and the pack either went home after midnight or crashed at the loft. So the others were probably still there. But Stiles was too pissed to even think about that right now.

Something was wrong with Derek. Maybe the others didn’t notice it, but Stiles did. Something— he didn’t know what— had happened. Derek lost  _ something _ . Something other than his stupid Camaro.

They needed Deaton’s help.

The clinic was empty when Stiles stormed in. Deaton was in the back doing paperwork and looked up in surprise at Stiles’s sudden appearance. The man slowly lowered his pen.

“Mr. Stilinski? Is everything alright?”

“I think Derek was cursed by a pixie,” Stiles said. Deaton raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? And you think this why, exactly?”

“Because he’s being an asshole,” Stiles said. Seeing Deaton’s look, he quickly amended his reasoning. “More so than usual.”

“Please explain, Mr. Stilinski.”

So Stiles launched into the entire story. From the pixie and its curses, to Derek killing it and the last words the pixie said, then to Derek’s odd behavior and sudden change in attitude. Deaton tilted his head.

“The curse the pixie put on him. Repeat it again for me?”

“He said something about Derek losing the thing he treasured most,” Stiles said. “And never getting it back again.”

“And Derek has been strange since then?”

“I mean,” Stiles fidgeted. “The others haven’t noticed it. Not exactly, I don’t think. But he's acting like the old Derek. Before the pack and before he started actually tolerating—”  _ me  _ “— us. He doesn’t think the curse went through, but I think it did. I think he lost something and he doesn’t remember what.” 

“And you think this has changed him,” Deaton said. Stiles chewed on his lower lip.

“Is there a way to bring whatever he lost back?”

“If the pixie was still alive?” Deaton said. “There would be a chance. Except Derek not only killed him, but those were the pixie’s last words. All his power would have gone into that curse.”

“So it’s unbreakable then,” Stiles said, deflating. “And Derek’s lost whatever he cherished.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Mr. Stilinski. The curse would start with his feelings for that thing disappearing, yes. But it would only grow from there. If the pixie wanted the thing he cherishes the most gone, then the object of Derek’s affections will eventually disappear altogether.”

“Like… vanish?”

“Quite possibly,” Deaton said. “This a unique curse, fitted to Derek himself, so I wouldn’t know exactly. Especially when we don’t know what he cherished so much in the first place.”

“Scott thinks it’s his Camaro,” Stiles said. “Could that suddenly vanish one day?”

Deaton looked amused. “I suppose so.”

Stiles clenched his jaw, thinking hard. Then he was struck by a sudden wave of horror. “You don’t think it could be, like, a person or anything, do you?”

“A person?”

“Someone he cares for,” Stiles said. “Someone that’s his family. Someone like Peter?”

“I’m not sure I could say Derek cherishes Peter,” Deaton said. 

“But how do we know for sure? I mean, Derek is a walking angst fest. He’d forgive and ‘cherish’ Peter if he thought that was punishing himself or something. Not to mention…” Stiles swallowed. “Other than the pack, Peter’s all he’s got left. Can you really hate the last remaining family member you’ve got?”

Deaton considered this. Stiles’s heart thumped against his chest and he actually hoped he was wrong— not because he liked having Peter creeping around all the time, but because Derek didn’t deserve to lose anyone else. Sociopathic uncle or not.

“If there was an individual that had earned Derek’s affections,” Deaton said. “Then yes, I imagine the curse would work the same. And that individual’s life would be in grave danger.”

Stiles groaned, covering his face in his hands. That was it, Peter was going to die. Again.

Unless they did something.

“Thanks, D,” Stiles said, starting out the door again. His mind was spinning too fast to hear if Deaton responded or not.

It was darker outside and Stiles didn’t want to think about how the rest of the pack meeting was going. Peter probably wouldn’t be at the loft anyway. He usually did his best to avoid the pack.

So Stiles called him. He’d never thought the creeperwolf’s number would come in handy until now. Peter picked up surprisingly past.

“Stiles?”

“You and me, we need to meet. Tonight.”

“... Why?’

“Cause it’s important, Zombiewolf, why else? Now where are you?”

Peter didn’t answer for a long moment. Stiles paced outside the vet clinic, then suddenly realized he could hear music coming from the background of the call. Coming to a stop, he listened intently, then promptly choked on his own spit.

“Oh my god, Peter, are you at a club?”

“No,” Peter said sharply, and the sound of music vanished. “What do you want, Stiles? I’m not coming without a good reason.”

“It’s important,” Stiles said. He didn’t know what else to say— how did he bring up Peter’s possible approaching demise? That wouldn’t be a very good motivator. Or maybe it would. Stiles could never tell with the wolf. “It’s about Derek.”

“Is he alright?”

“Can you just meet me, Peter?” Stiles asked. “Please?”

Once more, the silence reigned for a long moment. Then Peter sighed. “Fine, Stiles. Where?” 

“Uh,” Stiles glanced around, then looked down at this watch. His stomach rumbled. “Betty’s Diner? Please tell me you know where that place is.”

“It’s been around for longer than you have, Stiles,” Peter said, sounding exasperated. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Stiles sighed in relief and hung up. He looked at his phone and considered calling his dad, but for all the man knew, Stiles was spending the night at the loft. That’s what he normally did, anyway. Stiles tried not to think about that, or the fact Derek would always let him crash in his bed.

God, Stiles couldn’t believe he was doing this. Trying to save Peter’s life? This what his entire existence had come to? Pixies and Zombiewolves. It was disappointing, to say the least.

But Stiles couldn’t really bring himself to be surprised.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is an oblivious idiot, Peter knows what's going on, and the pack notices.

Stiles hadn’t seen his night turning out like this.

Peter looked unfairly judgemental when the waitress brought around a stack of pancakes, which Stiles thought was extremely unfair. He was hungry, after all. Stupid Derek and not ordering enough pizza.

“Stiles,” Peter said. “I hope you didn’t bring me here to watch you consume an ungodly amount of pancakes at twelve o’clock at night. Because things won’t end well for you if that’s true.”

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles muttered around a mouthful. He swallowed and downed half his glass of water, then wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Peter looked disturbed. “I’m hungry, asshole, I’m allowed to be. I’m a growing boy who’s running for his life every other day because of  _ werewolves _ .”

“Just get to it, Stiles. As fun as this is,” Peter said, gesturing around the table with a predatory glint in his eyes. “If my nephew comes across us, he will kill me. Again.”

“That’s actually what I’m trying to prevent,” Stiles muttered. Peter’s brows drew together.

“What?”

“That pixie from yesterday,” Stiles said. “Derek killed it. But before the thing died, it cursed him.”

“A pixie?” Peter asked, looking confused. Stiles stared at him.

“Oh my god, what planet do you live on? Seriously, dude, you don’t pay attention to anything that goes on in this town. The pixie? The Tinkerbell look-alike we’ve been chasing around town all week? Well, it’s dead. And now the thing Derek cherishes the most is going to vanish soon because of it.”

“And I’m here because…?”

“Because I’m trying to save your life, asshole. Let me do something good here.”

Peter stared at him. Then slowly, realization dawned on his face and Stiles couldn’t remember the last time the Zombiewolf was so slow. Maybe coming back to life had stunted his acclaimed ‘genius’. 

“Stiles, do you think the thing Derek cherishes the most is me?”

“Color me surprised too. But he’s acting like more of an asshole than usual and—” 

Peter cut him off with a laugh. Stiles stared as he threw back his head and laughed, drawing far too much attention from the rest of the diner. Stiles scowled and jabbed him in the arm with the handle of his fork.

“Dude, not cool, cut it out! I’m trying to save your life here!”

“You think,” Peter said, looking much more amused than he should, considering the circumstances. “The thing Derek cherishes the most is me? The uncle who killed his sister, went crazy for an extended period of time, and now spends his time at clubs trying to stay out of the way?”

“I knew that was a club!” Stiles shouted, then realized that was off-topic. “Wait, what do you mean? Dude, Derek still cares about you. I mean, he shouldn’t, but you’re the last bit of family he’s got. Of course he’s gonna care, Derek’s a martyr like that.”

“Stiles, your brain truly does astound me sometimes.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “For some reason, I think that’s sarcasm. Which is not cool, asshole.”

“I’m not what my nephew cherishes the most,” Peter said plainly. “I will never be what my nephew cherishes the most. Whether I’m the last of our family or not.”

“Then what the hell is wrong with him?” Stiles asked, frustrated. “Because he’s acting wrong. He’s acting  _ different.  _ Whatever the Sourwolf lost— or is losing— it's taking away everything. You know I was finally getting the idiot to smile without frowning right afterward? That took a lot of work!”

Peter looked at him in amusement, arching a brow. Stiles snapped his jaw shut and felt his face turn red. He deflated back into the booth.

“Never mind about that last part. I have it handled.”

“Stiles, I’m not an idiot,” Peter said. “And you’re not subtle. I know you’ve been in love with my nephew for years now.” 

Stiles squawked, which earned them another few irritated glares from the other patrons. “I am not! You take that back, I’m not in love, it’s not a crush, and I have it completely under control. It’s an observation, dammit!”

“An observation?”

“An experiment, an investigation, an evaluation, whatever! I’m curious, not obsessed,” Stiles said stubbornly. “That’s not a crime.” 

“You’re also an idiot,” Peter said. “But you’re not the only one.”

“I take offense at that statement. Scott is trying, okay? We’re getting him through his bouts of puppyish confusion. Slowly but surely.”

Peter stared at him for a long moment. Then the man took a deep breath and sighed heavily, rubbing a hand against his forehead. It was weird to see Peter looking that exasperated. The expression was startling similar to Derek’s when Stiles did something stupid. “How exactly was Derek cursed?”

“He slashed the pixie’s throat,” Stiles said, catching Peter wince slightly. “And it cursed him with its dying breath. Deaton said that’d make the curse even more powerful.”

“You’ve already gone to Deaton?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles said. “Cause it’s pack night and Derek’s being more prickly than usual. And if the others have noticed, they’re not doing anything about it. So here I am. On a Saturday night. Sitting in a diner with an ex-sociopathic killer.”

“That last part was unnecessary,” Peter grumbled. “As for this thing he cherishes; Deaton says it’s going to disappear?”

“Scott thought it was the Camaro, but I’m gonna be pissed if a car makes Derek that messed up in the head. And if it’s a person…” Stiles swallowed. “I couldn’t let him lose another family member. Not even you.”

“Stiles,” Peter said, his face softening considerably. It was a frightening look. “It’s not me.”

“Then we’re back at square one.”

“No,” Peter said. “Because I know exactly what it is. Or rather, who. How have you been feeling lately?”

Stiles stared at the wolf. “Uh, tired? I’ve had a headache since this entire thing started and right now, I’m sorely tempted to punch someone in the face. But I’m not sure why that matters.”

“You’re hungrier than usual,” Peter said. “Though I doubt the curse will make you starve to death. You’re also a lot paler, but that could be a personal problem. Your scent smells sour, Stiles, have any of the wolves told you that lately?”

“Um,” Stiles blinked. “I’m sorry? Why are we talking about me?”

“Because, you idiot,” Peter said. “If all your incessant rambling is correct, you’re going to be dying soon.”

Stiles stared. “Come again?”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” Peter said, looking beyond done. “Derek does always make a mess of things, does he not? He’s a grown man hiding his feelings from an eighteen-year-old teenager, and he considers me the childish one in the family.”

“Peter,” Stiles said. “What the hell are you saying?”

“That you’re the thing my nephew cherishes the most,” Peter said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. “How have you not realized that yet?”

Stiles felt like a bucket of cold water had just been dropped over his head. He shoved himself up from the booth and stumbled back, staring at the older wolf. Who looked extremely amused. “No,” Stiles said. “No, that’s not me. Derek doesn’t cherish me _._ He tolerates me. On a good day. We’re friends. It’s an _observation._ I have it under control!”

Peter rubbed a hand over his face. Stiles realized the rest of the room was staring, but he didn’t care. Turning on his heel, he stumbled out of the diner, pancakes be damned. The cool night air was a relief against his face. Stiles stumbled to the jeep and leaned against it, taking deep breaths. 

Suddenly, his head pounded even harder. He felt like he might be sick.  _ Shit,  _ so maybe Lydia was right and his interest with Derek was something beyond scientific. But Stiles knew the Sourwolf would never feel anything back. It just made sense, after all. Stiles was Stiles. And Derek was Derek. There were leagues between them. 

Stiles screwed his eyes closed and cursed.

That’s where Peter found him, leaned up against Roscoe, breathing unsteadily. The wolf didn’t look terribly sympathetic. Or impressed.

“Your pancakes cost me eight dollars,” Peter said. “Plus a tip.”

“I hate you,” Stiles said hoarsely. “You know that, right? I hate you. You’re a creeper and a sociopath and I hate you.”

“So I’m not getting paid back, then?”

“Tell me you’re lying,” Stiles said. “If this is some kind of joke, I swear to god I’m going to put wolfsbane in your coffee the second you’re not paying attention.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” Peter said, looking disgusted. “It doesn’t do anything to werewolves.”

“I seriously hate you.”

“Yet here I am,” Peter said. “Trying to be helpful.”

“You’re wrong,” Stiles said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “You realize that, right? Derek doesn’t care about me. I’m not the  _ thing he cherishes most.” _

“You’re an idiot.”

It was a little past one in the morning now and Stiles realized with a start he had six missed calls from Scott and two from Lydia. He grimaced. “Oh my god, this night can’t get any worse. Can you just stand there for a second, Zombiewolf? Don’t move. Just think about how utterly wrong you are, okay?”

Peter rolled his eyes, looking thoroughly done. Stiles hit Scott’s name to call him back and lifted the phone to his ear. His friend picked up in less than three rings.

“Stiles? Stiles, dude, where are you? We’ve been trying to call for hours!”

“I had things to do,” Stiles said. “What’s wrong? Are Derek’s betas starting a revolution because of the lack of pizza?”

“It’s Derek,” Scott said. “He had a temper tantrum and kicked everybody out of the loft.”

Stiles straightened. “What?”

“Where are you, dude? Lydia thinks you're right and something’s wrong. We’re at her lake house trying to figure things out.”

“Shit,” Stiles said. “I’m out with… um, I’m just out. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” Scott said, sounding relieved. “I’ll let the others know.”

“And Scotty?”

“Yeah, dude?”

“Tell Lydia…” Stiles swallowed hard. “I might know what Derek lost. Maybe.”

“Stiles?”

“Just trust me on this.”

“Of course I trust you, Stiles. Just hurry over, okay?”

Peter was watching from the side, obviously listening in and looking annoyingly amused. Stiles rolled his eyes and hung up, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. He opened the passenger door of the jeep and then moved around to the driver’s side, climbing in. 

“Come on, Zombiewolf, you’re coming with me.”

“Since when was this my problem?”

“Since you started living at the loft, pack adjacent or not,” Stiles said. “Do you really think Derek will be happy to see you if he kicked out his own pups?”

Peter rolled his eyes. But he climbed into the jeep too and Stiles couldn’t believe he was freely offering the werewolf a ride. And then demanding he take it. His priorities had gone off the rails in less than twenty-four hours.

Peter didn’t like any of his music. So the ride to the lake house was relatively silent.

Lydia was the one to answer the door. She straightened when she saw Peter, green eyes flickering dangerously, and he visibly slunk in on himself. Stiles winced as her threatening gaze slid to him. “Stiles, why is he here?”

“Uh, moral support?”

“Peter Hale doesn’t have morals.”

“I came across him clubbing?”

Lydia stared at him, expressionless. Stiles sighed. 

“We could use all the help we can get, okay?”

“To be fair,” Peter said. “I didn’t want to come.”

“Shut up,” Stiles said, shooting him a glare. He slid in past Lydia and started into the main room, where the rest of the pack was waiting. They were all rigid too, no doubt having caught Peter’s scent. Erica’s nose flared.

“Stiles, what the hell is Peter doing here?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “Can we focus on something else for a moment? Like the fact that I might be dying soon?”

Scott looked confused. “What?”

Stiles immediately wanted to fold in on himself, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. How ridiculous it  _ all _ sounded. Of all things, why would Derek cherish him? It was laughable. He was going to get laughed at. But sitting with an arm wrapped around Erica’s shoulders, Boyd’s face suddenly cleared and he sat up. “It’s you.”

Stiles blinked. All the betas looked at Boyd, who tilted his head, looking intrigued.

“You’re the thing Derek cherishes the most.”

Every single pair of eyes snapped to where Stiles stood. He shifted nervously and thumbed the hem of his t-shirt, and Jackson suddenly laughed out loud. “Stilinski? You think Derek cherishes Stilinski?”

“Of course he does,” Lydia said from the doorway. Peter hung in the shadows behind her. “Has nobody else realized that?”

“Um,” Scott looked adorably confused. “What?”

“That’s why Derek’s acting strange,” Allison said, looking at Stiles with soft eyes. Stiles realized suddenly he didn’t tell her enough how much he adored her. Her very expression was enough to make Stiles feel less like a ball of anxiety. “He’s angry and closed off. Just like he was years ago when Scott was first turned.”

“He was also a little murderous,” Isaac pointed out. “Or does nobody remember how he reacted to the kanima?”

“Like you reacted any better,” Lydia shot back. “Who tried to kill me in my own house again?”

“We were following orders,” Isaac said, looking unbothered by the fire in her eyes. “Derek was our Alpha. He still is.”

“And he just kicked you all out of the loft,” Stiles said. “Also, I’m going to die. Isn’t this just fantastic?”

“Wait,” Scott said, still looking bewildered. “You’re going to die? Since when?”

“Is this an unrequited love thing?” Jackson asked, sounding bored. “Because none of us knew Derek even liked you ten minutes ago. I’m sure you’ll get over him hating you again. It’s not like it’ll be anything new.”

“First off,” Stiles said, glaring. “You’re an asshole.”

Jackson rolled his eyes.

“Second,” Stiles swallowed. “The pixie cursed him to lose what he cherished. For it to be  _ gone.  _ I went to see Deaton and the result of that isn’t great.”

“Stiles?” Scott looked worried. “What’s going to happen?”

Stiles glared down at the floor, kicking at the carpet. He could feel the rest of the betas watching silently. It wasn’t fair. Learning that Derek actually cared only when it was an actual threat to his life. Stiles shrugged helplessly, looking up again. “Derek’s gonna lose what he cherishes. Memories, feelings, and eventually, the actual thing. It’s all gonna disappear.”

“You,” Lydia said, straightening. Stiles laughed weakly.

“Me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles isn't doing well, Derek starts to unravel, and the pack is determined to help.

“So we go to Deaton,” Scott said. “Make him fix things.”

“I might’ve already done that,” Stiles said morosely. When the others looked at him, he shrugged. “I knew something was off with Derek. I’d hoped Deaton could help.”

“But he can’t?” Lydia asked. 

Stiles swallowed. “The pixie’s last words were meant to curse Derek. All of the pixie’s magic and hatred went into them. Deaton said—”

He cut off suddenly as a crack of pain cut through his skull. Stiles gasped and stumbled, and Scott rushed forward to catch him. Stiles saw black for a moment, before coming back to reality with a start. He blinked a few times and shook his head.

“Woah. That was unexpected.”

“What happened?”

“I have a shitty headache,” Stiles said, trying to nudge Scott off. But the werewolf held on tightly and Stiles realized he was taking his pain, black lines creeping up his arm. Sighing, Stiles went limp and let him. “It’s no big deal.”

“It looked like a big deal,” Isaac said. Stiles clenched his jaw.

“I’m fine.”

“Or,” Peter said, finally stepping out of the shadows. He ignored the pack’s growls. “You’re not fine and the curse is finally taking full effect.”

“I’m not dying,” Stiles said, glaring at him. “Not yet.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Erica said flatly. “How are we supposed to keep you from dying eventually?”

Stiles didn’t have an answer for that. It didn’t seem like any of them did, silence falling over the room. It also didn’t help that it was way past midnight and while the entire pack was adept at skipping sleep, they’d been chasing the pixie all week. Stiles was bone-ridden tired and he knew he wasn’t the only one.

“How long do you think we have?” Lydia asked, like she could read his thoughts. Stiles shrugged.

“I mean, I’ll probably know when things start to get bad. Right?”

Lydia didn’t look comforted at that statement. But they didn’t have anything else to go off of. She sighed and went out into the hallway before coming back with a stack of blankets. Lydia dropped them onto the coffee table in the middle of the room. “Fine. But if you’re all sleeping here, I don’t want a single mess made. And if anything is broken, I’m going to make everyone sorry.”

Stiles watched Derek’s betas gulp and slowly go for the blankets. He gave Lydia a tired, amused smile and she smirked primly back. Peter looked distasteful.

“I’m going to go, then.”

“Good,” Lydia said. “Because that invitation wasn’t for you.”

The wolf rolled his eyes and turned away, starting toward the door. Stiles hurried after him, only to hesitate when they were both out on the porch. Peter gave him a pointed look and Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks,” he said. “For earlier, I guess.”

Peter raised a brow. Stiles scowled and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“That’s the best you're getting, Zombiewolf.”

“I didn’t really expect more,” Peter said, turning away again “Just try not to die within the next few days, Stiles. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t avidly despise you.”

Stiles looked up in surprise. But Peter was already heading into the darkness and Stiles really didn’t know how he’d be getting back into town without a car. Though, he figured the wolf would find a way. Probably an illegal, disturbing way that Stiles really didn’t want to know.

He turned back into the lake house.

Stiles found the pack curled up all across the living room floor, wrapped around each other in a rare show of intimacy. The blankets had been spread out so everyone was covered up and even though there was space for them all to be apart, they were pressed close together. 

Scott had his face buried in Allison’s neck and Jackon had his arms curled around Lydia. Isaac was in between Boyd and Scott, and Erica, with one arm wrapped around Boyd’s chest, cracked an eye open as Stiles stood uncertainly. She rolled her eyes and shuffled over a little, opening up a new space.

“Come on, Batman. It’s a puppy pile.”

“I’m not a puppy,” Stiles said, but he moved over all the same. Isaac made a noise of contentment as Stiles found a spot between him and Erica, and the beta snuggled closer. Erica snorted.

“Just shut up and cuddle, Stiles.”

“You got it, Catwoman,” Stiles muttered, burying his face in the crook of her arm. His chest warmed at the closeness of it all. The entire pack all together.

Except Derek should be there. Stiles wished Derek was there.

Once they figured the curse out and everything was back to normal, Stiles decided, he’d make the pack do this again. He didn’t care how much they complained. This was a puppy pile and a puppy pile should have its Alpha.

Even if things never went fully back to normal. Even if the curse could never be completely lifted or Stiles lost something he’d never even realized he’d had. He just missed Derek. Grumpy, growly, or not.

The pack needed its Alpha back.

* * *

Stiles dreamed the pixie didn’t die. 

He dreamed Derek didn’t come in time, sharp claws wrapped around his throat, and the pixie tore it straight out. Stiles dreamed he died and the last thing he heard was Derek’s broken roar.

He also dreamed things had gone differently. Derek saved his life, the pixie hissed its final curse, and Stiles heard every word. Except this time, the result was instantaneous. Stiles rushed forward and Derek looked at him with an expression completely devoid of emotion, before his face hardened. The Alpha yanked back like Stiles was the enemy and bared his teeth, fingernails becoming claws.

Stiles stumbled back, terror crashing over him. He couldn’t help it, seeing the utter lack of warmth in Derek’s eyes.

“Sourwolf? Sourwolf, come on, let’s talk about this now.”

But it was like Derek didn’t hear him. The Alpha stalked forward, eyes glowing red, and Stiles pinwheeled back. He retreated until his back rammed against a tree and Derek caged him in, expression feral. That’s what it was, Stiles realized. Derek had completely and utterly lost control.

“Dude, anchor, anchor! Let’s not rip the token human to shreds!”

Derek snarled. His anchor was anger, Stiles remembered Boyd saying once. It’s what kept him grounded. But dream-Derek looked plenty angry right now and he was still a growling, half-shifted werewolf. Stiles swallowed.

“Derek? Derek, are you—”

Then suddenly, Derek moved. Claws came up, catching the moonlight, and Stiles flinched back. But not fast enough.

He woke up screaming, his entire body feeling like it was on fire. But he wasn’t hot— he was cold, so cold it felt like flames of ice raced up his skin. A pair of hands caught his own and Stiles realized he was clawing at his neck, trying to breathe again. The hands wrestled his down and somebody was pinning him to the floor. Stiles heard a voice shouting his name. Surprisingly, it was Jackson’s.

“Stilinski, stop! Stop freaking out, you idiot!”

But Stiles couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t calm down, chest tightening painfully. Sweat beaded at his brow. His clothes stuck to his skin.

“He’s having a panic attack,” Lydia said, voice carrying over the chaos. “Someone needs to help him steady his breaths.”

_ “How? _ ”

“Well, there was one time I kissed him—”

“You’re not kissing him,” Jackson growled, flashing his eyes at her. Lydia looked defensive but Stiles was too busy panicking to care. He tried to close his eyes and take a deep breath, heart pounding like a war drum against his chest, but it wasn’t working. He couldn’t calm down—

Then suddenly, someone  _ was  _ kissing him. Stiles startled and tried to pull back, but firm hands held his face in place. Slowly, the pressure in his chest lessened. Stiles stopped struggling.

Carefully, the lips left his. Stiles opened his eyes to see Erica, a small smirk on her face. The entire room was silent and she rolled her eyes, shrugging “What? Someone had to do it.”

“Erica—” Stiles said raspily. She fixed him with a look.

“But never make me do it again, Stiles. I like you, but I’m taken.”

Stiles’s eyes snapped to Boyd, who watched silently. He half-expected the guy to look murderous or wolf out, but Boyd merely shrugged, threading his fingers possessively through Erica’s. “Never again, Stilinski.”

“Uh,” Stiles blinked a few times. “Right, I’ll remember that. You know, the next time I decide to have a panic attack.”

Boyd rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue.

“Stiles,” Scott said, taking a timid step forward. “You don’t smell right.”

Stiles looked at him in confusion. “What?”

“It’s your scent this morning,” Isaac said quietly. “It smells sour.”

_ Sour.  _ That’s exactly what Peter had said last night. Stiles sat up and groaned as a whole new wave of agony pounded through his head. It hurt a lot more today and Stiles swore he saw stars for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut for a long second. When Stiles opened them again, the rest of the pack was watching him apprehensively.

“Stiles?” Scott asked carefully. Stiles grunted.

“I hurt.”

“Is it still your head?” Allison asked. Stiles grimaced.

“It’s my everything.”

“That’s it,” Lydia said, crossing her arms. “We’re going to Derek’s. That idiot is going to get over himself and fix this.”

“I’m not sure he can just ‘get over’ a curse,” Stiles said, groaning. “It’s not like it’s his fault anyway.”

“I don’t care,” Lydia argued. “We’re going to figure this out and we’ll start with him.”

Stiles knew better than to argue with Lydia Martin when her mind was made up. So he let Scott pull him to his feet and stumbled a little as the entire world spun. Stiles shivered, suddenly feeling shock-cold without the cover of the blankets. His clothes were damp with sweat too, which made the chill even worse. Scott started to take some of his pain only to gasp and jerk away.

“Stiles—”

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, knowing what he was going to say. Scott’s eyes were wide. “Let’s just go, okay?’

He didn’t wait for a response, starting out of the house. The crisp morning air didn’t do anything for the goosebumps racing up his arms and Stiles shivered again, pulling his keys from his pocket. But then another blast of pain cracked through his skull again and he gasped, stumbling against the side of the jeep and dropping them to the ground. They clattered against the gravel.

“Stiles,” Erica shouted, rushing to his side. Stiles grimaced and tugged away.

“I’m fine. But someone’s gonna need to drive Roscoe.”

Silence fell over the air. 

Stiles glanced around and they were all watching him with startled, shocked faces. He knew why— Stiles never let anyone touch his baby. But he didn’t want to leave her here and Stiles knew driving in this state was not a good idea.

“I want Boyd to do it,” Stiles said. “Only him.”

“Okay,” Boyd said gently. “Just get in the passenger seat, alright?”

“I don’t need any babying either,” Stiles grumbled, picking up his keys and handing them over. But he complied, climbing in and slumping down in the seat. He shivered again and noticed Boyd turn on the heat as the werewolf climbed in too. Erica and Isaac piled into the back.

Stiles could feel their worried gazes. But he didn’t look back.

He didn’t know what Derek could possibly do, other than growl at him. But Stiles also didn’t know what other options they had. He closed his eyes and turned his head against the window, savoring the warmth coming out of the vents.

Stiles must have fallen asleep. Because when he opened his eyes again, they were parked outside the loft. Groaning, he all but stumbled out of the car.

The others eyed at him warily.

“M’ fine,” Stiles said, even though no one said anything. He started toward the loft.

The moment they climbed to the second floor, Stiles knew something was wrong. All the wolves went tense and there was a sudden itch underneath his skin. Boyd pulled the door open and Stiles stared in shock at the ruin of the loft. Couch cushions were on the floor, the side table was overturned, and it looked like someone had punched out part of one of the stone pillars. It looked like a fight had taken place.

But the air was silent.

Stiles’s heart flipped. He rushed into the loft only to freeze as he spotted a half-shifted werewolf couched in the corner. His blood turned to ice.

Derek looked at him with flashing red eyes. Stiles's heart stopped, his mind flashed back to his dream, and he smothered the urge to stumble back. Derek snarled and looked away as the pack moved to Stiles’s side, all staring in shock.

“Derek?” Isaac asked timidly. The Alpha flinched.

“You all need to leave.”

“Derek,” Boyd said softly. “What’s wrong?”

“You all need to leave!”

Claws and fangs came into sight and Derek leaped to his feet, snarling angrily. Scott was between him and the pack in a second, his own claws out. The two roared at each other and then Derek visibly flinched, pulling himself back.

“I can’t control it,” he gritted out. “I can’t control the shift.”

“What about your anchor?” Boyd said. Derek’s face hardened and he shook his head.

“Anger isn’t working.”

Silence fell over the loft. Stiles realized why the moment he noticed the rest of the pack looking at him and his heart stopped. He couldn't be— no. That couldn’t be the curse’s fault. But the destruction around them told a different story.

“Shit,” Erica whispered. Derek looked at her sharply.

“What?”

She snapped her mouth shut and didn’t say anything else. Derek’s eyes started to glow again and he growled, crumpling into himself. 

“I need you all to leave. Just… leave. I’ll be fine. I’ll figure it out.”

Stiles's chest constricted. He’d been Derek’s anchor and because of the curse, Derek had lost that. For so long, Stiles had assumed it was still anger. That anger and grumpiness and all things that made Derek’s eyebrows do growly things were Derek’s anchor. But it was him.

Stiles blinked hard, looking away. If Derek noticed, he didn’t say anything, but of course he didn’t. Derek could hardly stand Stiles right now.

That hurt more than anything.

“This has gone too far,” Lydia said quietly. “Deaton has to be able to do  _ something _ .”

“But should we really leave Derek alone?” Allison asked, watching the Alpha. If he was listening to them, he didn’t show it. Lydia considered this.

“Stiles will stay.”

Stiles jerked, and his head pounded again. “What? Me?”

“Stiles?” Scott asked, looking equally surprised. And a little worried. “Why Stiles?”

“Because clearly,” Lydia said. “He was…” She looked at Derek and lowered her voice. “What’s missing. And no offense, Scott, but if we keep lugging Stiles around town, he’s eventually going to pass out.”

“Hey,” Stiles mumbled, but he couldn’t deny that statement. Standing up straight right now was draining. “Not cool. What makes you think Derek isn’t going to maul me? He’s not in the best… mindstate right now.”

“Derek,” Lydia said, looking at the Alpha. “We’re going to get Deaton and Stiles is staying, so don’t maul him.”

“Why Stiles,” Derek ground out. She rolled her eyes.

“Because I said so. Now is he safe here?”

Derek looked at him. Stiles swallowed hard and Derek rolled his eyes, shifting his body away again. “I’ll try to avoid ripping his throat out,” he said sarcastically. With Derek’s claws out and his eyes flickering, it was scarily similar to the first time he’d made that threat.

“Um,” Stiles said quietly. “I’m not terribly convinced.”

“Just go sit on the couch,” Lydia said impatiently. “And don’t talk to him until we get back.”

“Will that really help?”

“You not talking always helps,” Jackson said sarcastically. Stiles glared at him.

“Stiles,” Allison said. “We’ll get Deaton and be back as soon as possible. There has to be something he can do. Just… stay here, alright?”

Stiles swallowed hard, but nodded. The pack looked between him and Derek, and then filed out of the apartment one by one. Erica was the last one to go, looking at Derek with an uncharacteristically fragile expression. She squeezed the back of Stiles’s neck. “Take care of him and don’t die before we get back. Okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” Stiles said weakly. Erica smiled and left too.

And they were left alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles's health rapidly goes downhill, Derek doesn't understand, and things don't look great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear the angst in this wasn't intended. But it just kinda happened. Hurt-comfort, anyone? Hope you're all doing well <3

“What did Erica mean,” Derek asked. “About you dying?”

_ Shit. _

Stiles avoided his gaze and moved over to the couch, picking up cushions and stuffing them back into place. He sat down heavily, burrowing deep into the corner as if that would warm him up. It didn’t really. “You know Erica,” Stiles said. “Nothing she ever says makes sense.”

“You’re lying,” Derek growled. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“So? Token human here, what do you care?” He knew he wasn't being fair, but being back in the loft brought all of Derek’s words from last night come crashing back. Along with the hurt of them. “She’s probably worried you’ll rip my throat out or something.”

“That’s not the current plan,” Derek said haughtily. He lingered in the corner, then moved over, sniffing the air cautiously as he approached. Stiles glanced up his position on the couch, trying not to look as shaky and pitiful as he felt. Derek glared down at him. “You smell bad.”

“Thanks, Sourwolf. I didn’t shower this morning.”

“No, you smell sick.”

“I have a cold.”

Derek’s eyes flashed red. “Lie.”

“What do you care?” Stiles asked. “I thought we weren’t going to talk until the others came back.”

“I’m the Alpha,” Derek growled. “They don’t give me orders.

“Real mature comeback, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek said grumpily. Stiles rolled his eyes and turned his face into the couch as his head continued to pound. He felt a little bit like jello. Like he was just oozing everywhere. The very thought grossed him out and he felt even worse.

“Just go away, Derek.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

Stiles considered answering honestly. It would probably raise more questions from Derek than it would provide answers, but at least the Alpha couldn’t say he was lying anymore. And the look on his face might be worth it. But Stiles ended up just groaning into the couch cushion. “I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re lying,” Derek said, sounding frustrated. “I can hear your heartbeat, Stiles. You’re lying.”

“Then stop listening, asshole.”

Derek suddenly yanked the cushion off the couch and threw it across the room, eyes flashing. Stiles yelped and fell face-first against the now empty back of the couch, scrambling to push himself back. His head  _ pounded.  _ Sitting upright, he glared at Derek. 

“Dude, what the hell? I’m in pain here!”

“Why?”

“Because of you!”

Derek drew back like he’d been burned. Stiles clenched his jaw and looked away, clutching his head. He was so cold now, he couldn’t stop shivering. His entire body hurt. Stiles felt like he was dying.

Because he was.

Stiles’s stomach twisted and he closed his eyes, fighting back tears at that realization. He was dying and there wasn’t anything Deaton or the others could do about it. Derek was losing him and Stiles was losing Derek. All because Stiles had been determined to take on the pixie alone.

“It’s not your fault, Derek,” Stiles said quietly. “I know you make everything your fault and you don’t even like me right now, but you don’t have any control over what’s happening.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, sounding strangely choked. “What is happening?”

“Nothing,” Stiles muttered, dropping down against the back of the couch again. He didn’t even care about the lack of cushions right now. “M’ fine. Just sick.”

“You don’t have a cold.”

“I do too.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, reaching out and grabbing his hand. Black lines instantly started up his arm and Derek’s eyes widened in shock as he yanked back. Stiles flinched and looked away. Derek stared at him. “You’re in pain.”

“Headache,” Stiles said with a shiver. “Or at least, that’s what it started out as. It’s more like a full body ache now. I’ll be fine, though. I took a few pain pills before coming here.”

“Lie,” Derek said in a whisper. Stiles glared at him.

“Stop doing that.”

“Then tell me why you’re in pain.”

“Doesn’t matter, Sourwolf. Wanna make me some chicken noodle soup?”

“Stiles, stop being an idiot.”

“I’m not, asshole. God, I hate you.”

Derek froze suddenly, his eyes widening. Confused, Stiles arched a brow, and the Alpha’s eyes stopped flickering red. Derek stared for a long moment before whispering softly, “Lie.”

Stiles’s throat closed. Derek’s fingers made an aborative movement forward, but then the Alpha pulled them back. Stiles didn’t say a word, turning his face away again. Derek sunk down onto the edge of the couch. His claws had retracted.

“Stiles, why are you in pain?”

“Because,” Stiles said. He figured it didn’t matter anymore; he was going to die anyway. “Because I was special to someone, but then something happened, and now I’m not anymore.”

“Dammit, Stiles,” Derek growled. “Stop lying to me!”

Stiles looked in shock at him. “I’m not.”

“You just _ did.” _

“No,” Stiles said, sitting up. “No, I didn’t. That wasn’t a lie.”

Derek stared at him, looking confused. Stiles swallowed hard, searching Derek’s face, and cautiously reached out. Derek didn’t draw back as Stiles took his hand. Little lines of black streaked up the Alpha’s arm and he winced, but didn’t yank away. Stiles’s stomach twisted.

“Derek?”

“You don’t smell right,” Derek said. His eyes flickered red again, but it looked purposeful this time. Like he was distressed. “Stiles, you smell like you’re dying.”

Stiles felt his heart crack. His vision blurred and he blinked hard, looking away. The black lines had stopped moving up Derek’s arm, but Stiles was still in pain. Even more so now, if that was possible. Because now his heart was shattered. And that was something even the curse couldn’t control.

“You’re dying,” Derek said. “Aren’t you?”

“Don’t take it personally, big guy,” Stiles murmured. “It’s nothing against you. Trust me, I’d rather not die today. Or any day, really. But life sucks sometimes, you know? In fact, I should probably call my dad. He’d be pissed if I died without asking permission first.”

“Stiles—”

“He always told me I wasn’t allowed to die on the job,” Stiles continued, rambling now. His head felt weird. Like he wasn’t completely in it. “He said I could keep running, keep fighting, but I wasn’t allowed to die. He forbade it.”

Stiles realized tears were streaking down his face now. He’d thought he would’ve had longer. A couple of days, maybe, to make peace with everything. But of course, this was a forty-eight-hour kind of curse. Like having a stomach bug or something shitty like that.

Stupid pixies.

“God, Derek,” Stiles whispered. “It’s not even fair. I had it under control and everything was going to be fine. I’d even trained you how to smile without frowning right afterward. Do you remember that?”

Derek looked at him in silence. Stiles choked on a bitter laugh.

“Guess not. Or maybe it’s just a tainted memory. I don’t know how pixie curses work,” Stiles said. “But it’s not even that. It’s not even that I’m dying. It’s— it’s that we’re—” He broke off, unable to finish his sentence. Until Derek placed a hand on his knee and squeezed gently.

“Stiles, what is it?”

“It’s you,” Stiles said brokenly. “You were finally happy, Derek. Finally whole. You cherished something and it wasn’t your Camaro. You were anchored and strong and content…”

Stiles swallowed, wiping tears from his face. He felt like an idiot, crying like this. But he couldn’t stop. Not even with the realization that saying all this wouldn’t accomplish anything other than throw Derek into a spiral of guilt again. And this time, it would be Stiles’s fault.

“But the pixie took it all away,” Stiles said. “Because I tried to be a hero.”

“It was you,” Derek said. “You’re what the pixie took away.”

Stiles swallowed, averting his eyes. Derek was looking at him like Stiles had just torn out his heart and maybe he had. Because how could Stiles even answer a question like that?

“I thought I was missing something,” Derek murmured. “But I didn’t know what.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered. 

“You’re dying.”

“Only a little bit.”

Derek looked at him again, sharp and pained. “Can I stop it?”

Stiles closed his eyes, willing away more tears. Derek was number one for blaming himself for things. Stiles should’ve kept his mouth shut, should've suffered in silence. Because Derek was going to try and do something, even though nothing could be done. And then, when he failed, Derek would take on the guilt of it all. And Stiles had just made sure of that.

He was an asshole.

“The pack is trying to help,” Stiles said. “Deaton’s coming.”

“Can Deaton stop it?”

Silence reigned for a moment. Stiles lowered his eyes.

“Can we just sit?” he asked. “Just sit and if the pack takes too long, I’ll call my dad. He’s at work but I think I’ll be able to get through. He’s on lunch soon anyway.”

Derek looked like he wanted to argue. But Stiles must’ve looked pretty pitiful because he moved closer instead, one arm wrapping around his shoulder and pulling him close. Stiles closed his eyes and melted into the embrace. He probably shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help it. Derek’s body was like a furnace and Stiles couldn’t stop shivering.

“You’re freezing,” Derek said. Stiles chuckled.

“I know.”

“I can’t take any more pain.”

“I know.”

“Stiles… I’m sorry.”

Stiles swallowed hard. “I know.”

Derek shifted so Stiles’s face was buried in the crook of his neck and a little bit of stubble rubbed against his forehead. He could hear the werewolf’s heartbeats through his shirt; stuttering every second or two. Stiles breathed in shakily, the scent of pine and aftershave filling his nose. Derek held him tighter and Stiles glanced up, meeting red eyes.

“Derek?”

“Can I…?” Derek trailed off, leaning forward. Stiles froze, only a second before Derek’s lips touched against his own. It was a cautious kiss; maybe an apologetic one. Stiles wanted to draw back and break what wasn’t real, but he couldn’t make himself move. If this was the last experience he got to have, then maybe it would be enough. Did Stiles have a right to be that selfish?

Derek’s lips were warm and his breath smelled like mint. His tongue traced along Stiles’s lips, carefully seeking something out. Acknowledgement, maybe. Or permission. Stiles made a low noise in the back of his throat and kissed the man back.

Some of the tension leaked from his chest. Derek pressed him against the back of the couch and carded his fingers through Stiles’s hair, tugging lightly. Stiles groaned and Derek’s grip tightened. The man nipped at his lower lip and his breaths trembled against his skin.

“Stiles—”

_ Shit.  _ Stiles suddenly forced himself to pull back. Derek’s eyes were unfocused and the man stayed still, breathing out through slightly parted lips. Stiles turned his head slightly. “Sorry.”

“Stiles, I—”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?”

_ Let myself hope.  _ “Kissed you back.”

Derek drew back, looking horrified. His fingers left Stiles’s hair and lingered in the air, twitching slightly. His eyes flickered. “What I felt… What the pixie took away. You didn’t?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “No, Derek, it’s not like that.”

“But I—”

“Derek,” Stiles said. “I loved you. Love you. Don’t you realize that?”

Derek’s eyes cleared. “You love me.”

“It was an observation,” Stiles whispered. “An experiment, an investigation, an evaluation, whatever. But I had it under contro—”

Derek kissed him again. It was full and real this time, and the man’s fingers threaded through Stiles’s own. Stiles felt the result almost instantly. Pain drained from his body in a rush and Derek made a soft whimpering noise, but didn’t draw back, holding on like a drowning man. Warmth crept back into Stiles’s bones. The ache left his head. Stiles breathed in sharply and Derek drew back. “Stiles?”

“D-Derek.”

“... An observation?”

Stiles stared at him. There was something akin to a constipated look of exasperation in the Alpha’s eyes and Stiles’s mouth dropped as he realized he  _ recognized  _ that look. Not from a time when they’d first met, but from Wednesday night. When Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed lobbing balls of paper at his head and threatening to disembowel Stiles if he dared risk his life against the pixie. 

“Derek, oh my god.”

Derek smiled, real and true. It was just like the picture on Stiles’s phone, except brighter. Stiles’s heart stuttered and he could only stare.

“But the curse...?”

“You’re never going after a pixie alone again.”

Stiles laughed, the sound bursting from his lips. He moved forward and buried his face in Derek’s neck, breathing in the smell of him again. Tears burned at his eyes, but they were different this time. Derek’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and held him close. “Derek.”

“I’m here.”

“God, I hate you.”

“Because I left you on the side of the road?”

“Yeah, well, non-cherishing you is kind of an asshole,” Stiles muttered. 

“Non-cherishing me doesn’t have a good anchor.”

Stiles looked up at Derek, meeting his grey-green eyes. “So it’s back then?”

Derek smiled. “You are.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, turning his face into Derek’s neck again. His movements still felt a little tight and achy, but it was like the aftermath of going on a long run. He just felt exhausted. “You’re never allowed to save me again.”

“Good luck with that.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and opened his mouth again, but the loft door slid open right at that moment. They both drew apart and Stiles leaped off the couch as the pack moved to stand in the doorway. His face turned hot and they all stared, eyes wide and shocked. Deaton raised a brow.

“So I assume that’s taken care of?”

Stiles winced. Erica smirked. “Holy shit, you guys kiss and break the curse?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles muttered. Jackson rolled his eyes, looking thoroughly unamused.

“That is some Sleeping Beauty bullshit.”

“Derek wasn’t asleep,” Isaac pointed out. Scott screwed up his face.

“What about the Princess and the Frog?”

“Derek’s not a frog.”

Derek growled lowly. Then Boyd, of all people, grinned. “It’s Snow White.”

“The cursed apple, of course!”

Stiles groaned, burying his face in his hands, and Derek moved to his side, one arm snaking around his waist protectively.

“Out,” Derek growled, flashing his eyes. “All of you.”

Deaton didn’t need to be told twice, turning away. But the other betas all muttered among each other, despite flashing their necks to Derek’s order. One by one, though, they left and Erica was the last to remain again. She smiled a little, eyes flitting between the two of them. That slightly vulnerable expression was back again. Along with a mischievous one.

“Good job, Stiles. Just don’t tell Derek what a good kisser I am, yeah?”

Derek growled lowly. Erica smirked and left.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, the moment the loft door slid closed. “Can you believe those guys? I mean a guy nearly dies for the millionth time and suddenly…” He trailed off as Derek turned, giving him a tilted brow and unamused look. “Derek?”

“Erica? Really?”

“Um.”

Derek’s eyes turned red and Stiles took a nervous step back. But the shifting color was accompanied by a wolfish smirk spreading across the Alpha’s lips. “Do you know what fairy tale I like, Stiles?”

“The Three Little Pigs?”

Derek’s gaze was absolutely predatory. “Little Red Riding Hood.”

Stiles yelped and turned, scrambling toward the nearest open door. His heart did a little twist and leap as he heard Derek giving chase, growling lowly. But something about that was okay.

Because Stiles? Stiles felt like this summarized his existence pretty well. And he totally had everything under control.

(He totally didn’t).

**Author's Note:**

> Heya, all, I'm back with another (attempt) at a shortish one-shot. Because my brain won't shut up. But I hope you all enjoy and your comments and support always make my day! Also, come hang with me on Tumblr or something, cause you're all amazing
> 
> [ https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com)


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